


Jealousy

by siderealOtaku



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Silly, waver being waver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siderealOtaku/pseuds/siderealOtaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Waver learns of another man in Iskander's life, he is immediately overcome with jealousy. But does he have any real reason to worry?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

Waver hated the Ionioi Hetairoi.

Objectively, of course, he appreciated it. It was one of the most powerful Noble Phantasms in the Fourth War, capable of combating even Saber’s golden sword and Caster’s sea demon. Though they hadn’t yet used it to challenge Archer’s Gate, Waver had confidence that the great army could pose a challenge to the golden king.

No, he didn’t hate the Noble Phantasm for its power, which was impressive, or its effectiveness, which was top notch. Actually, to be honest, it wasn’t fair to say that he hated the entire Hetairoi. Just…one of its members.

His first encounter with the long-haired man had been after the battle (if one could even call it that, given its length) with Assassin. Iskander had waited a few moments before dispelling the Reality Marble, riding through the ranks and congratulating certain soldiers on their accomplishments during the battle, greeting them as old friends.

When he had reached the man with the long black hair, Iskander had stopped. The two Servants had looked into each other’s eyes for a long, long time. All the while, Waver wracked his brain, trying to remember who this man might be. In none of the historical texts on his Servant had a long-haired general with strange black armor/clothing been mentioned. Nor had the man appeared in any of the dreams Waver had had of his Servant’s past life.

His attempts to determine the man’s identity were abruptly cut off when the King of Conquerors took another step forward (well, his horse did). With one large hand, he lifted the long-haired man straight off the ground, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss.

Waver’s mouth fell open. He—Who—What—How—WHAT? He hadn’t been expecting that. Now that he thought of it, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Iskander had a lover in the Hetairoi. The historical texts had been extremely clear regarding both his Servant’s bisexuality and his promiscuity (a fact which had caused Waver to blush, grateful that Iskander had been off playing video games instead of reading over his shoulder as he often did). And the man was beautiful. He was tall and proud, with piercing dark gray eyes and that rich, beautiful hair.

Waver hated him immediately.

He didn’t confront Iskander about the man. There was no way a wimpy magus like Waver Velvet could stand up to the King of Conquerors, demanding to know who his mysterious lover was. And Waver did understand, at least intellectually, that there were parts of Iskander’s life that he hadn’t shared with his Master.

And yet, every time he watched them interact, the young Master grew more and more jealous. When the Hetairoi was used again—this time to defeat Caster—Iskander held the Reality Marble for far longer than necessary, conversing with (and holding hands with, and, damn it all, kissing) the still unidentified man.

It wasn’t until days later, when the King announced in his usual blunt way that he was nearly out of prana again and needed some more, thank you very much and you know what that means, don’t you boy, that Waver dared speak to him about it.

He had meant to accuse him boldly, with pointing fingers and threats of Command Spells. What ended up happening was more like this:

“Not until you tell me who he is.”

“Who?”

“That…that guy. That one, in your army. You know the one.”

Iskander continued to look at him, the picture of puzzled innocence.

“The guy with the long hair. The one you were ki…ki…kissing!”

A pause. Master and Servant stared at one another, the latter incredulous, the former angry.

Then Iskander laughed.

“You’re jealous!”

“No’m not!”

“My Master is jealous!” Iskander laughed (and Waver fumed) again. He reached out a large hand—the same one he had used to pull the long-haired man up for that first fateful kiss. Waver flinched, ready for his customary flick on the forehead—

—only to find the big Servant patting him gently on the head instead.

Iskander tilted Waver’s chin up, forcing the Master’s dark gray eyes to meet his own. “Waver,” he said. The small Master gasped. It was the first time his Servant had ever used his name, even in the heat of….well, prana restoration. Usually, he just called him “boy” or “you there”.

“The one who holds Iskander’s heart does indeed ride in the Hetairoi,” the King of Conquerors said. “And yet, Iskander’s Master has no reason to be jealous.”

“That makes no sense, idiot!”

The King sighed heavily. “Believe me, I would explain all if I could. But the Throne of Heroes would not look kindly on me if I did. Only please believe me—being jealous of that man is a foolish action.”

Iskander did not look away. Their eyes remained locked for a minute, then two, then three. Waver was reminded of the look he had shared with the long-haired man. For a crazy moment, Waver thought the King was going to kiss him….but that was stupid. For all of his pretty words, Iskander was taken, and any relationship he pursued with his Master was for the sake of necessity and prana.

He attempted to ignore Iskander after that—though, when, about an hour later, the King found him (sulking in the forest near the location where he had summoned his Servant) slung him over his shoulder and announced “Boy, I still need that prana,” Waver did not resist.

However, throughout the act, the face of the long-haired man never once left his mind.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The outfit which they had given him to wear for the ceremony in which he would formally accept the title of Lord El-Melloi II was the stupidest thing Waver had ever worn.

It was some sort of combination robe-armor thing, black with grey highlights—two colors which Waver rarely wore. It even had a stupid little necktie-cravat-hybrid that made him feel like he was choking.

He glared at himself in the mirror. With this stupid outfit and his now-long hair, Lord El-Melloi II looked like some sort of ancient….

….Wait.

Some sort of ancient soldier.

He looked into the mirror again, hardly daring to believe it. But yet, the face was familiar. The dark gray eyes set in a narrow, angled face and framed by long, dark hair—those eyes which had haunted his nightmares for many, many years—were staring back at him.

No. He was wrong. He had to be. He was remembering things incorrectly. The man’s hair had surely been a little shorter, his eyes a little darker, his outfit a little different….

“The one who holds Iskander’s heart does indeed ride in the Hetairoi,” said a soft voice from behind him. “It has just taken him many years to realize that he belongs there.”

Waver did not have to turn to know that his king stood behind him. Yet he did, confusion evident in his face. The King of Conquerors was standing in his bedroom in the Clock Tower—which made absolutely no sense.

“How—“

Iskander anticipated his question before he could finish it. “The King of Conquerors has come to claim the one he has chosen to ride at his right hand as his true companion. Do you accept?”

“Of course, my king.” Waver attempted to kneel, but only got about halfway down before he was grabbed by the back of his weird robe-armor, lifted bodily off the ground, and pulled into the same sort of passionate, lasting kiss he had witnessed between Iskander and the man (no, not ‘the man’—‘himself’!) so many years ago.

When they broke apart, the desert of the Reality Marble was stretching before them. Two horses—Iskander’s faithful steed and the one the long-haired man had ridden—waited for them at the edge of the arid landscape.

Hand in hand with his king and love, Lord Waver Velvet El-Melloi II rode to take his place in the Ionioi Hetairoi.


End file.
